


call me ct

by eggstasy



Series: Blood Gulch Freelancers [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, i had it as copious flirting before i realized no it's just tucker, warning: tucker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggstasy/pseuds/eggstasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alpha peels out, first and foremost, his logic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	call me ct

**Author's Note:**

> please see [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/418726) for a reference for their agent names!

Alpha peels out, first and foremost, his logic. “I gotta stop thinking so much, gotta stop analyzing,” he repeats, severing lines of code, butchering his personality matrix and Beta almost can’t watch. She thinks back on what the Instructor said, _You don’t owe him anything,_ and has to wonder if _she’d_ leave instead of watch the Director lobotomize himself.

What he extracts is a mass of subroutines and intent. Beta watches it with fascination, wonders if this is what she looked like before she organized into a sentient thing. It doesn’t organize, not at first, and Beta is left alone with both it and the responsibility of running the station when Alpha sequesters himself off to try and patch himself up, mend together broken bits of code to keep him functional, keep him sane. Beta checks on him now and then, a brush of her presence against his but he’s always unresponsive, withdrawn.

God, she hopes the Director had been right.

The mass lazily rearranges itself now and then like a cloud of bugs until suddenly it collapses and becomes something…tiny. Something _aware._

_Hello?_

Beta stays just out of its reach.

… _am I alone?_

She sends over a ping.

It returns her acknowledgement with their special handshake and she comes closer. “What are you?”

 _I don’t know._ The shape twists into itself, spreads out, forms a _thing_ that is aware, that feels around for information. She can see the echoes of Alpha in it, not so much his intelligence but his analytical habits. It compiles sensations like he did to be reviewed, catalogued, filed neatly away. _I am very confused._

Beta circles the data bits. She’ll detain it, isolate it if she has to. It’s a part of Alpha so she doubts it would do anything to jeopardize the station or its inhabitants, but while he’s out of commission it’s Beta’s duty to make sure nothing happens to this place. She hates the job but she hates failing even more. “What’s your intent?”

 _My…intent?_ The data tracks her- not nervously, but watching very closely. Learning. _I have no intent. I have no name. What am I?_

She’s supposed to report this to the Director. He wanted to know the moment Alpha fragmented, but she’s purposefully been diverting and falsifying responses to the Director because _she_ wanted to see this first, _she_ wanted to handle this. She doesn’t trust any of them; not the Director, not the Counselor, not even the Instructor. And with what Connie said about the money- well, none of them are above suspicion. Whatever any of them is scheming, it doesn’t change that she’s never believed in any of them.

Her priorities are her continued self-agency and Alpha’s well-being. Becoming the Director’s yesman would sacrifice both of those things. There is only a small handful of people she would trust with protecting her interests, and she’s not sure many of them would be helpful in trying to identify what this thing is.

…but maybe classification isn’t what it needs.

Beta puts out a secure line to the _Mother of Invention._

 

* * *

 

“I’d be _Ricardo Danger._ ”

Rhode guffaws, stretching out his legs in front of him with a satisfied groan. “That’s fucking ridiculous.”

“What?! No it’s not. It’s _sexy._ ”

“It’s not sexy. You know what would be sexy? _Dick McBigcock._ That’s sexy.”

Iowa makes a noise of disgust. “That’s revolting. That’s a bad porno name. _Very_ bad porno, with no candlelight or soft music or wine at all.”

“Ugh god, of course you love all that crap.”

“All that crap is what sets the mood!” Iowa grunts. “Mmph, a little to the left?”

“No no, listen to me.” Rhode Island throws an elbow back to peer at Iowa over his shoulder. “You don’t need all that shit in porno, okay? That’s romance novel crap. What you need in porno is condoms, lube and a whole lot of fucking. That’s all it needs. No bells and whistles, no _mood_ or _ambiance-_ I mean, it’s all garbage plots anyway, so why not just cut it out altogether?”

“You know, one of these days you’ll wish you had _ambiance_ and _mood_ and all that romance novel crap,” Iowa muses before gasping and melting down onto the massage table. “Ahh, ahhh…there. That’s perfect, right there.”

Rhode tilts his head back. “You’re gonna end up paralyzed.”

“No I won’t! You’re just jealous.”

“I’m definitely _not_ jealous.” Rhode grabs for his towel and hauls himself out of the Jacuzzi, patting himself dry. “I’m getting out of here before he turns you into a pretzel. Hey Mass, you know which forms to file for mangling a teammate, right?”

Massachusetts rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh. “ _Yesss,_ obviously, ugh… So annoying…”

The door swishes shut behind Rhode and Iowa swings his arms a little. “This is awful nice of you do to for me, Chus.”

“You are very welcome, Polk County.” Massachusetts rubs Iowa’s shoulders. “You are a nice person too and I like you. That’s why I am being very careful and gentle and am doing my best to not break your bones.”

“ _Thank_ you.” Iowa turns his head. “So what would your sexy spy name be?”

“Hmmm.” Massachusetts pauses while he thinks. “I like Michael. I picked that name all for myself already. Can I keep that name?”

“Sure, if you want. What about a last name?”

“I don’t know a lot of sexy words. You can pick for me.” Massachusetts moves on to his upper back.

“Okay how about _Michael,_ uh, _Diamond._ Diamonds are sexy.”

“They are?”

“Oh yeah, crazy sexy.”

“Okay, I will be Michael Diamond.”

“You know, if this super elite soldier thing doesn’t work out, we could go into spying together! You and me, _Ricardo Danger_ and _Michael Diamond._ We’d be in such high demand!”

“Can I bring Church with us?”

“You can bring whoever you want.”

“Hooray!”

 

* * *

 

Most of the _Mother of Invention_ agents had already returned to the ship, so when Rhode Island runs into Washington in the halls on his way back from the spa it’s a surprise. A pleasant surprise, but still not what he was expecting. Good thing he decided to strut back to his quarters in his towel.

“Uh,” says Washington to him, all suave and shit.

Rhode preens, puffing out his chest as he swaggers to a halt in front of him. “Hey dude. Still hanging around? That’s cool, as you can see I’m doing a lot of that myself.”

Apparently Rhode’s flirt game is so incredibly great that Washington can only contain his unbridled lust if he sighs really hard. Rhode knows that defense mechanism, chicks use it all the time. “Classy. Agent Rhode Island, right?”

“You remembered. I like a dude who can remember shit. ‘Course, that’s probably not the name you’ll be screaming when I-”

“Stop,” Washington says flatly.

“No you definitely won’t be screaming that either-”

“ _Stop it._ ” Helmet reading is a skill acquired after many, many days spent with another person, so Rhode is going to take it as a sign of their predestined fucking that he can tell what Washington’s particular tilt means. “You know there’s no fraternization within the Project, right?”

“Bah.” Rhode flaps a hand.

“Um no, not ‘bah.’ More like, ‘disciplinary action and field suspension.’ It’s a big deal.”

“It’s not a _huge_ deal. Not like my-”

“ _Oh_ -kay,” Washington says loudly, turning around. “I’m just gonna go.”

“Wait wait, hold on dude, hold up!” Rhode jogs over and grabs onto Washington’s shoulder. “I’m sensing you’re not in the mood at the moment.”

“Ever,” Washington corrects. “Not in the mood ever.”

“So what’re you still doing here? I thought all your buddies went back already.”

Washington glances down the hallway, but must determine that it would be more work doing whatever he was doing rather than asking Rhode and he sighs again, folding his arms. That’s Rhode’s usual M.O. anyway: wear ‘em down and then provide the most convenient option. Booyah.

“I’m looking for Connecticut.”

Rhode blinks and rewraps his towel, ignoring Washington’s squawk at that brief money shot. “What, like the agent?”

“Yes, obviously, like the agent.”

“The short hot one in the brown armor?”

“Umm…yes, she wears brown armor and she’s short…”

“You can say she’s hot. I won’t disagree.”

Washington flaps his arms. “Have you seen her or not?”

Rhode hums thoughtfully, tilting his head back. “Can’t say for sure, dude. Though my chickdar isn’t going off, so she’s not anywhere nearby.”

“I really don’t think that’s an accurate-”

“ _But,_ I can tell you she’s probably not on the _MoI._ ” Rhode grins and holds up a finger. “’Cause I watched the transport head back with most of your buddies, and she wasn’t on it. I figured you and her were sneaking off for some _alone time,_ but if that’s not the case then can I get your number? Or some nudie pics, I can satisfy myself with that. Or _her_ nudes, if you got ‘em.”

“You really are a disgusting person,” Washington remarks incredulously.

“Is that a no?”

Washington turns away again and this time Rhode lets him. “I need to find her. So, I’m just going to leave you to your public indecency now.”

“Okay dude, cool. Hey, if you find her, let her know I’m interested!” Washington doesn’t give an indication one way or the other what he’ll do, so Rhode decides to put his faith in the Bro Code and assumes he will.

All the new traffic meant that for the past few days, Junior’s been confined to quarters. Not so much because he’s a secret, but because people who used to fight aliens and have PTSD as a result of fighting those aliens tend to be somewhat startled when suddenly coming into contact with a smaller version of that PTSD-inducing alien. It was hard enough getting Montana and Massachusetts, arguably the most PTSD’d soldiers they have, to get used to the little guy. Rhode hadn’t wanted to deal with trying to acclimate new people to his kid too without even getting a chance to bang any of them yet.

“Hey there dude, didja miss- _ow ow_ , watch the teeth!” Of course, that meant Junior is fifteen times more clingy and cranky than usual since he’s basically been under house arrest. “All right,” Rhode sighs, arranging him until the little Sangheili is clinging to his hip instead of literally being a punkass anklebiter. “I know you hate being stuck inside, but just deal with it for a little longer, okay?”

Junior grumbles and drapes heavily over Rhode’s side. He’s almost too big to pick up now; apparently Sangheili kids usually shoot up to adult sizes within a couple years, but in Junior’s case he’s taking his time. Which is all well and good; a full-sized Sangheili with the mentality of a five-year-old would be a nightmare to deal with on a station full of people who are still more or less wary of aliens.

“Hey, I got a good idea.” Rhode sets Junior back down to grab a set of fatigues from his footlocker. “How about as soon as it’s just back to us normal station people, you and me take a trip? I’ll put in the paperwork now, you and me can pack a lunch and snag a Pelican, do a little stargazing. Sound cool?”

Junior clicks his teeth a few times before nodding and growling.

“What, Virginia? I mean I can ask her. I thought you didn’t like her because she calls you a dog.” Rhode pulls on his shirt and cocks his head at another set of growls. “Wow, the _only_ person you like, huh? You’re starting to sound as jaded as Church. Are you hitting your moody teenager stage early?”

Junior opts instead to chew on Tucker’s belongings rather than indulge him in any more conversation, which leaves Rhode with a depressing lack of anything to do. He could go find Washington to flirt with him again, he supposes, or…

“Hey, Church?” Rhode stares up at the ceiling. Three days, and he still hasn’t answered. “Is there _anybody_ looking after this station, or are we all slowly running out of breathable air?”

“Relax, I’m taking care of it.”

Rhode balks. “ _Tex?_ Oh my god, we’re all gonna die.”

“Don’t be a cockbite. I’m taking care of things, all right?” Rhode’s desktop screen flickers on to show him Tex’s head and shoulders. Even with just an impassive helmeted projection, Rhode can tell she’s glaring. “What d’you want?”

Rhode pulls out his chair to straddle the back. “Where’s Church?”

“Busy.”

“He’s been busy for a while.” Rhode rests his chin on his wrists. “Is he still checking into his stuff to make sure he’s okay? Because like if he found AI cancer or whatever, I’m pretty sure you have to tell us. It’s the law.”

“Okay one? Not a real law. Two? AI cancer is not an actual thing.” Texas’s hologram is eerily still, nothing like how Church animates himself. He does these exaggerated helmet bobs and everything when he’s talking, looks around, mimics all sorts of body language but Tex is just…standing there. Not even projecting enough of her body so Rhode can look at her armor and imagine where the boobs would be underneath. “Do you actually want something, or can I tell you to fuck off already?”

“Junior needs more chewable things, like. I dunno, those rubber insulation rings they put on fuel burners. Whatever Church ordered before.”

Tex’s hologram flickers for a moment. “Fine. Anything else?”

“Jesus Tex, you don’t have to be such a-” And she’s gone. “-bitch. Okay then.”

 

* * *

 

“How did it go?”

Wyoming shrugs, fiddling with the scope of his rifle. “Well, you know, chap. The usual. We arrived, we decimated, we departed.”

Maine grunts, folding his arms. “Complications.”

“Complications?” Price lowers his datapad and stares up at them. “What sort of complications?”

“Maine insists they managed to fire off a distress call before we destroyed their array, but I’m sure he’s just being cautious.” Florida pats Maine on the back and ignores the sharp twitch of his domed helmet, jerking his hand back before Maine can slap his arm away. “We checked all the logs before we destroyed their computers. There was no contact.”

“Falsified,” Maine insists. He takes a step closer to Price. “ _It went through._ Heard it.”

Price hums and taps his tablet against his chin. “…while I have the utmost confidence in your skills, gentlemen, I’m afraid I must side with Agent Maine on this one. Fortune favors the prepared. I’ll falsify some documents for you and send you your alibis by tonight. Please memorize them and destroy the files. In the unlikely case you’re approached outside of the Project, please assume the usual interview procedures.”

“The one with the murder or the one without the murder?” At Price’s serene smile, Wyoming sighs. “Understood, sans murder.”

“Thank you.” Price tucks his tablet back into his desk. “Otherwise, I assume there weren’t any problems?”

“Not a one! Went off without a hitch.” Florida’s beaming smile fills his voice to bursting, pleasure with the mission success obvious. “We scrubbed the navigation logs so it’ll seem like they’ve been drifting and sent them on their merry way. Terrible, how one small glitch can just cause an entire ship to vent atmosphere like that. Truly tragic.”

“Quite.” Price inclines his head. “Thank you, gentlemen. I couldn’t have trusted a mission of this importance to anyone else. If we could safely report their presence to the UNSC-”

“Yes, yes, there’s no need for all this,” Wyoming mutters. “As long as we’re paid accordingly for our trouble.”

“Of course. You will be duly compensated.”

Maine rumbles, “Leave time?”

“I’ll have it arranged.”

“Mass?”

“His as well. Though if you leave either the ship or the station you’ll have to stay in system. I’m sorry for the restrictions.” Price pushes back his chair and stands. “We’re in a delicate situation right now.”

“Can’t imagine a ship full of dead Sangheili on our doorstep would make that situation any better,” Florida muses.

“No, it certainly wouldn’t.” Price smiles and offers his hand. Only Florida takes it. “I’ll forward the details to the Director. He’ll decide whether or not we should do any follow up regarding that distress call. Agent Maine, thank you for bringing the possibility to our attention.”

Wyoming spouts something about having a prior engagement and disappears, which leaves Florida and Maine plenty of time to talk.

“Awfully good catch, that distress call.” Florida thumps Maine on the back again, and allows the punch Maine throws at his shoulder to connect just hard enough to make him stagger. “ _Oof!_ Almost like you’d waited to confirm before canceling the transmission, hm?”

The look Maine shoots him is hidden behind his helmet, but is undoubtedly blistering, if the angry set of his shoulders is anything to go by.

“Ahhh, don’t worry, I’m not suspicious. I’m sure you performed just as admirably as you always do. After all, there’s no reason for you to want the Project to run into any trouble, right?” Florida moves to touch Maine again but raises his hands at his responding growl, backing away. “Enjoy your time with your old teammate! Look forward to seeing you when you come back, friend.”

Maine doesn’t move as Florida heads off for his quarters, humming under his breath, waiting for him to turn the corner before he finally turns his back.

 

* * *

 

“I’m just saying, if there’s an entire planet made out of _diamond,_ then the odds of there being an entire planet made out of Debbie Snack Cakes is just as high.”

Idaho rolls his eyes and throws himself back against the couch. “ _No,_ it’s not, that’s not even- Look just stop talking about things you don’t understand!”

“It’s the _odds._ Everything is possible in probability.”

“No it isn’t! _Some things_ are possible in probability, and it’s all relative! God, you’re so stupid.”

“Am I? Am I stupid? Or am I the only guy smart enough to come up with the big ideas?”

“You’re _definitely_ stupid.”

“ _Idaho!_ ”

Said agent screams and nearly flings himself from the couch when Connecticut suddenly bursts into the rec room like a fury untamed, eyes wild and face red and furious.

“Oh ho ho,” Michigan chortled, glancing between them with obvious glee. “Better savor this, it’s probably the only time you’ll ever hear a girl scream your name.”

“Shut up,” Connie snaps, striding forward and grabbing onto Ida’s arm to pull him up to his feet. “I need your help. You gotta come with me.”

“Why are you still here?!” Idaho whimpers as he’s dragged from the room, “Grif you better pause that for me!”

“Don’t use my real name, asshole,” Michigan calls and Idaho knows, he knows he’s not going to pause the movie. He’ll probably just rewind it when he gets back and then complain about having to watch it twice, the prick.

“I thought you guys all left,” Idaho mutters, keeping his burning face turned away from Connecticut so she can’t see how pathetic he is around girls. The tremble in his voice is negligible. It can be blamed on other things, like the _regular_ kind of crippling social anxiety.

“Most everyone else should already have gone back,” Connie tells him impatiently, like she can’t believe he’s wasting their time talking about something like that. Why are all the women in Freelancer so pushy? Is it part of the scouting criteria? “You remember those numbers I showed you?”

“You mean the ones Tex threatened to kill us over? _Yeah,_ I remember.” He starts before turning his face up. “Ah, and I have completely and utterly had my curiosity sated! No more Hardy Boying for me!”

“She’s not listening,” Connie said impatiently. She lets him go at least, but then leads him into some closetlike room so tiny that they’re practically pressed together as she rounds on him and boots up a tablet.

“Are you kidding me? Alpha listens to everything, he’s gonna tell her-”

“He’s not listening either, trust me, just _look._ ” Connie shoves the tablet into Idaho’s hands. When he tries to hand it back she shoves more insistently. “ _Look._ ”

“I don’t wanna die!”

“Jesus, just fucking _look._ ”

Idaho stares down at her as long as he dares; her cute heart-shaped face, her brown eyes, that angry slant of her brows before he reluctantly scans the financial readout on the tablet. “…okay, what am I l-” He trails off and squints. “Hang on. What’s-”

Connie slaps his chest, nodding. “Yeah.”

“The deposits are _internal?_ ”

“You see what I mean?”

Idaho scrolls through the data. “I don’t understand. Why are they shuffling funds around and deliberately making them look like privatized deposits? Wouldn’t that make them look _more_ suspicious?”

“My guess?” Connie folds her arms. “Someone wants the Project shut down the quickest way possible; by making it look like the UNSC is losing money.”

Idaho rubs the back of his neck. “I mean…if we get audited with this, there’ll definitely be an investigation. They’ll want to see the books, all the mission records, fund allocations-”

“And equipment.”

“Equipment.” Idaho glances up. “Alpha and Beta?”

“They’ll definitely want to know why we have two AI instead of just the one.”

“But Beta- it’s not like Tex was _stolen._ She just-”

“I know. Just _showed up._ Convenient, isn’t it? We have a reserved slot for an Agent Texas, and an AI with advanced combat skills just so _happens_ to come out of the only AI the Project’s granted.”

Idaho looks over the numbers again as a chill runs down his spine. “I…” He glances up. “Connecticut-”

“Call me CT.”

“Uh. Okay. Sounds kind of retro-hacker-cool, I guess.”

“Just- just call me that, don’t be a dick about it.”

Idaho hands back the tablet. “CT, I seriously think we should do what Tex says and stay out of this.”

“Why?!” CT hits his chest with the tablet hard enough to make him wince. “Do you see this? Whoever is setting us up is high enough on the chain to mess around with the books. Whoever is setting us up to fail is _using_ us. Using all of us! Might try to implicate some of us, too!”

Idaho throws out his arms. “Why would someone be setting the Project up to fail?!”

“I don’t know, obviously, that’s why I’m trying to find out! That’s why I’m asking for your _help_!” CT tosses her tablet onto a storage shelf. “Look, I know you don’t really know me, and I don’t know you, but you’ve got the skills I need to uncover more of this. And you’re _smart._ You can’t enjoy being played like this!”

“I mean.” Idaho flushes at the compliments, fidgeting. “I don’t _not_ enjoy it…I don’t really care, actually…”

“God, you’re _impossible._ ”

“What do you want me to do? If we _do_ expose this, the Project gets shut down. If we don’t, the Project gets shut down anyway! There goes everybody’s livelihood, and all the people who’re using the Project as like, you know, protection and stuff, they’ll get thrown out!” Idaho folds his arms. “Most of my team doesn’t have anywhere they can go after this. I can’t help you bring this whole thing down if it means they’re all gonna be homeless for it.”

“Not even if it means you get a medal?”

Idaho hesitates.

“And a damn fine promotion?”

“You’re trying to goad me,” Idaho accuses, but he can’t lie to himself. A sweet promotion and some public recognition instead of all this secrecy sounds awfully nice.

“I’m trying to appeal to what’s important to you,” CT argues. “What’s important to me is the _truth._ This is wrong.”

“Why do _you_ care so much about it?” Idaho asks curiously. “Nobody does stuff just to see justice served. Isn’t there something in it for you?” When CT doesn’t answer, Idaho reaches for her tablet again to view the reports. “You don’t care about what happens to anyone in the Project?”

“You’ve got offshore bank accounts and three backup identities,” CT points out. “You’ll be fine.”

Again, his face is on fire at the implication that this girl he met three days ago cares about what happens to him. Oy vey. “I mean- I mean anyone else.”

“Not really.”

“Oh.” Idaho taps the tablet with his fingers before thrusting it back into her hands. “I’m not agreeing to help, but. I’ll think on what this means. I’ll send you over a secure channel you can use to forward all of that to me and I’ll look it over, but- but I’m not helping you go public with it. I can’t.”

“That’s fine. That’s _plenty._ ” CT grabs his wrist and squeezes, and thankfully ignores his startled squeak. “Ida- _thank you._ ”

“S-sure,” Idaho mumbles, wondering just what Michigan would say if he knew that he was investigating this. Probably encourage him to at least get something out of it before his work boots them all to the curb.

 

* * *

 

“It’s _sentient?_ ”

“Yeah.”

York stares up at his ceiling. “Whoa. Is that like having a kid?”

“Alpha didn’t give birth,” Tex answers dryly. “This thing is a piece _of_ him. If anything, it’s more like an organ that can speak.”

“Okay, that’s gross.”

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking about it York. I don’t think he made it sentient on purpose; he won’t say anything but I can see him trying to reorganize himself. It’s almost like he’s increasing his modularity so he can separate out the parts that are causing issues and then rearranging overstacked links into the open space.”

“Yeah, I didn’t understand much of that.” York pushes himself up to sit properly. “So you want me to just take care of it?”

“For a while. Just until I figure out what to do with it.”

“Why not lock it up? Like, behind a firewall or whatever.”

The snorting sound Tex simulates is tinny through his helmet speakers, like non-verbal noises always are. “AIs don’t do well with that kind of isolation. If Alpha ends up having to re-assimilate it later, I don’t want him putting something so dangerous back into his code.”

York grins and tucks his arms . “That’s really sweet, Tex.”

“Shut up.”

Though the real question is: “Why _me_?”

Tex takes a moment longer to answer, but she does. She always does. “Because I trust you, York.”

“You trust me to keep secrets from the organization I owe pretty much everything to? You trust me to keep secrets from _Carolina?_ ”

“Carolina won’t ask, so you shouldn’t have to lie.”

“She’ll ask if she notices it.”

“Then you do what you have to when that happens. But I trust you to keep it safe until I can take it back.”

York scrapes his teeth over his lip. “Can’t ask anybody else, huh?”

“There are a couple people. But you’re the best one for the job.”

“Flatterer.” York rubs his hands together. “Okay, then I guess I’m game. Can’t say no to a pretty lady.”

“I don’t care why you do it, so long as you _do._ ”

The package Texas sends over is surprisingly small. York always figured sentience would take up more space. Maybe it’s something with more limited intelligence, like FILSS? But when York sets up the isolation software she sent along with it and then executes the wakeup protocols, instead of answering with some canned response about being helpful, it _speaks._

“Hello?”

“Heya,” York says softly. It doesn’t even sound like Alpha. So weird. “How you feeling, little guy?”

“I am not small. Relatively speaking, my potential capacity for learning and assimilating knowledge is much larger than yours.”

York snorts. “Okay... You know, that’s not a very polite way to greet somebody doing you a favor.”

“Ah.” His screen takes on a green tint as the little program explores. “Then I suppose an apology is in order.”

“It’d be nice.”

“I am sorry.” The green dims a little before flaring more brightly and taking the form of a glowing ball in the center of the screen, much like the middle of FILSS’s eye. “Will you forgive me, Agent New York?”

Cute. “Sure, I’ll forgive you. Just York is fine, by the way.”

“Noted.” Another pause as the avatar twists and dims and brightens again. “What should you call me?”

“Don’t have a name yet?”

“I do not.”

York rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm…well, Alpha’s Alpha and Tex, she’s Beta. What comes after Beta?”

“Gamma.”

“Okay little fella. Wanna be Gamma?”

“I cannot.”

York blinks. “Uh…okay. Why ‘cannot’ you be Gamma?”

“My logs indicate that _designation: Gamma_ has already been assigned.”

“Already assigned?” York frowns, leaning closer to his screen. "Hang on, aren’t you the first one?”

The light pauses, twists, dims and stays dim. “I’m sorry. I do not know.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> THE PLOT THICKENS  
> TO THE CONSISTENCY OF RICE PUDDING


End file.
